


Approximate Knowledge of Paris

by coincidental_penalties, watchforwalkers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Airplanes, Aliases, Art, Art Theft, Caper Fic, False Identity, Forgery, Future Fic, Gen, Heist, Illegal Activities, Implied Relationships, International Travel, Mary Sue Big Bang, Paris (City), children in peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coincidental_penalties/pseuds/coincidental_penalties, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchforwalkers/pseuds/watchforwalkers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>14 years ago, Neal Burke’s namesake died. 12 years ago, his parents visited Paris for their anniversary and came back pregnant with Neal’s sister Katie. One year ago, Neal found his father’s file on Nathan Moreau, containing a copy of Katie’s birth certificate and an address for Mr. Moreau. Two hours ago, with forged passports declaring them Sped and Lonni Earlsterday and Wiffle Podack—Theo isn't great at aliases yet—Neal, Katie, and their cousin Theo Berrigan boarded a flight for Paris to track down the mysterious Mr. Moreau. In approximately 15 minutes, Neal, Katie, and Theo will find themselves in the middle of an international art heist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approximate Knowledge of Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to our artist, Amaradex, for her adorable artwork for this bang! The passports turned out so cute!
> 
> Slight warning for children being in peril (but ultimately being completely unharmed).

Little Neal can feel his palms sweating against theirs. The three of them, traveling on forged passports across the Atlantic, and what seemed like the perfect plan throughout all the stages that led up to this moment now seems a little precarious. What if a flight attendant can tell from their hand-holding and their facial expressions that something’s not what it seems?

Sometimes Little Neal wishes he didn’t think of himself as Little Neal. It’d be nice, he thinks, if occasionally he thought of himself as just ‘Neal’, but the truth is, he’s Little Neal to everyone, including himself, including Theo and Katie. 

“How much longer?” Katie whispers. 

“Four hours and fifteen minutes,” Little Neal answers in the same quiet voice. He wishes he didn’t know the exact length of the flight and that he wasn’t mentally keeping track of just how long they’ve been in the air, but he is, so he’ll give his sister the exact, correct answer, not an approximation. 

“When are they feeding us?” Katie asks. “I’m really hungry.”

“I’ve got some granola bars in my carryon,” Theo says, leaning forward to talk across Little Neal. “They’re the kind with the little pieces of marshmallow in them.”

“Didn’t you bring the protein gels? I thought you were going to bring the protein gels,” Little Neal says. 

“I brought those, too, but Katie likes the granola bars,” Theo says. 

“ _Lonni_ ,” Katie hisses at Theo. “My name is _Lonni_.”

“Which isn’t even a name, but it sounds like a name more than _Sped_ does,” Little Neal says, glaring at Theo. 

“Lonni is so a real name,” Theo says. He lets go of Little Neal’s hand, crossing his arms as he slumps down in his seat. “And it’s not my fault you didn’t tell me what you wanted your name to be! I did the best I could!”

“I like Lonni,” Katie says.

“You didn’t have to name me special ed!” 

“I didn’t!” Theo says, a little too loudly, which makes Katie immediately _shhhh_ at him. 

Little Neal slumps a little and frowns at Theo. “You _did_. Now I know what you really think.” 

“He named himself _Wiffle Podack_ , Sped,” Katie says. “That’s way worse than Sped Earlsterday.” She smiles, looking pleased with herself. “Not as awesome as Lonni Earlsterday, though.”

“I kind of like Wiffle Podack,” Theo says. “It makes me sound mysterious.”

“It makes you sound like the game on the playground after Sped,” Little Neal argues. “At least we match, I guess.” 

“You should have made our passports say we were married, and then I could’ve been Lonni Podack,” Katie says. 

“We’re not old enough to be married,” Theo points out.

“Yeah, but you already made us older on the passports. We could’ve been a little more older than that!” Katie says. “I could totally be sixteen.”

“You totally could _not_ be sixteen,” Little Neal says with a shake of his head. “And sixteen is already too young to be married.” 

“I don’t really want to be married to anybody yet,” Theo says.

“I could _too_ be sixteen! Mom says I’m very mature for my age!” Katie insists. 

“I mean, I haven’t even gone to college yet,” Theo continues. “Probably college before getting married, right?”

“Dad says Katie has to be in graduate school before she can date, so probably, yeah. I just don’t talk about dating with Dad. He’d probably tell me I had to have a PhD first,” Little Neal says. 

“I’m not talking about _dating_. I’m talking about _marrying_ ,” Katie says. “Theo— I mean _Wiffle_ , has to marry one of us. Then Auntie Di would be our mother-of-law.”

“Mother- _in_ -law, Lonni,” Theo says.

“Yeah. Mother-in-law,” Katie says.

“But I still don’t want to get married yet,” Theo says. 

Katie sighs wistfully. “I like weddings, though. Do you think Uncle Fozzie will ever get married? I want to go to a wedding.”

“Wiffle, we’re going to have to crash a wedding or two when we get back to the States,” Little Neal says. “Lonni wants to go to a wedding.” 

“Maybe we can go to a wedding in Paris,” Katie says, still talking in the same breathy, dreamy voice. “That would be so romantic. I bet they have really cool dresses in Paris. That’s where all the fashion comes from.”

“How much longer until we get there?” Theo asks. 

Little Neal sighs. “Four hours and _eight_ minutes, because it’s only been seven minutes since Ka—Lonni asked me the last time. Also, you never gave her one of the granola bars, and I’m starting to doubt this entire enterprise.” 

“You sound just like Dad,” Katie says. 

“I do not!” 

“Do so!”

“We have to go to Paris to find Nathan Moreau,” Theo says. “So unless you don’t really want to find him, this is a necessary enterprise.”

“Do you think he’s handsome?” Katie asks. “His name sounds handsome.”

“I think he’s clever, because Dad likes clever people,” Little Neal says. 

“Maybe I’ll change my last name to Moreau after I meet him. Katie Moreau sounds like a famous person, like an actress or an artist,” Katie says. 

“You don’t even know if you’re related to him,” Theo says. “Maybe your dad just put your birth certificate in the wrong folder. I still think you could’ve just asked him.”

“But this way we get to go to Paris!” Katie says. “And meet my Parisian maybe-real-dad!”

“Biology can be inconsequential,” Little Neal says. “Wiffle has always been our cousin, and Uncle Fozzie’s always been our uncle. You might have two dads and one mom, is all.” 

“You’re just jealous you don’t have two dads, too,” Katie says. 

“I don’t have any dads at all, and I’m fine with it,” Theo says. “You don’t even really need dads. Uncle Peter’s a good dad, though.”

“But my other dad might be a fashion designer,” Katie says.

“He works at the Louvre, Lonni. We already know that,” Little Neal says in what he thinks is a pretty patient voice.

Katie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but he’s from Paris, so he could be a fashion designer, too.”

“I Googled ‘Nathan Moreau fashion’ and didn’t find any evidence of that,” Little Neal says firmly. “He works at the Louvre. Maybe he can sketch well.” 

Katie _hmphs_ and kicks at the seat in front of her. The woman sitting there turns and glares at Katie through the space between the seats, and Katie glares right back at her. Theo reaches across Little Neal, granola bar in hand.

“Here,” Theo says. “Eat your snack, Lonni.”

“I’m going to go pee,” Katie announces, standing up without taking the granola bar and storming down the aisle. She’s back again thirty seconds later. “Somebody’s in there, and the flight attendant said he’d been in there for forty-five minutes already!”

“That’s weird,” Theo says. “I hope the flight attendant has a lot of Lysol, just in case he’s sick.”

“Maybe he went in after eating some poison, and now he’s dead,” Little Neal theorizes. “Dad might end up having to work the case.” 

“No, it would be INTERPOL, probably,” Theo says. “International waters.”

“I just need to pee,” Katie says, sitting down and snatching the granola bar from Theo’s hand. 

“Won’t the flight attendant let you use the first class bathroom?” Little Neal asks. 

“Maybe,” Katie says. She shoves almost the entire granola bar into her mouth at once before standing again and walking towards the front of the plane instead of the back. Before she comes back, a shifty-looking man walks up the aisle from the back of the plane and disappears through the curtains into first class. 

“I wonder if that guy is really supposed to be in first class,” Little Neal says quietly to Theo. 

“He looks suspicious,” Theo says.

Katie comes back through the first class curtain, sitting next to Little Neal again. “They let me use the bathroom up there.”

“Did you see the suspicious guy?” Theo asks her. 

“The one with the mustache?”

“With the shifty eyes,” Little Neal says. “He looked very dishonest.” 

“Yeah,” Katie says. “He asked me my seat number.”

“You didn’t tell him, right?” Little Neal demands. 

“Of course not! I told him yours.”

“Lonni!” Little Neal says, glaring at her. 

“What?” Katie says. 

“You shouldn’t have answered him,” Theo says.

“I had to answer him. It would be rude if I didn’t, and he might figure out we’re traveling under,” Katie lowers her voice to a whisper, “fake passports.”

“Don’t say _that_ either,” Little Neal says in a harsh whisper. “You should have told him your seat but a different row.” 

Katie glowers at Little Neal. “When he walks back by, he’ll see it anyway.”

“Wait, he didn’t sit down?” Little Neal asks. 

“Nope,” Katie says, shaking her head. “He went into the bathroom after I got out of it.”

Theo hums to himself for a moment, then shakes his head, too. “He was in the bathroom in coach, too. Why did he need both bathrooms?”

“Maybe he really had to go,” Katie says. 

“Maybe he’s smuggling drugs, and there were drugs hidden in both bathrooms?” Little Neal suggests. 

“Maybe he’s a shy pooper,” Theo says. “I bet the bathroom in first class has better sound-proofing.”

“That’s not really a thing,” Little Neal says. “Either one of those. I don’t think they sound-proof anything on a plane besides the cockpit.” 

“Uncle Fozzie says he’s a shy pooper,” Theo says.

“Do you think the suspicious man will try to talk to me again?” Katie asks. “I don’t want him to.”

“Let’s ask the flight attendant for a pillow, and you can pretend to be asleep if he walks past again,” Little Neal says. “And Wiffle, you and I both know that Uncle Fozzie lies about weird things.” 

“I don’t want to pretend to sleep,” Katie says. “I want to read my book for a while.”

“Then he probably won’t try to talk to you if you’re reading,” Little Neal says. 

“Good,” Katie says. She reaches under her seat for her backpack, unzipping it and pulling out _The Missing Monet_ by Rose Diamonte. 

“Didn’t you already read that book?” Theo asks.

“No, I read _The Pilfered Picasso_ and _The Disappearing Degas_ ,” Katie says. “This is the new one. Shhh.”

“I don’t know why you read that stuff,” Little Neal says with a shake of his head. “They’re all so formulaic.” 

The shifty-looking man doesn’t walk past them again for the rest of the flight, which means he either really did have a seat in first class or he’s ill or otherwise very suspicious. They don’t call for an ambulance to meet the flight, so Little Neal assumes it’s one of the other two possibilities. Once the flight attendant pulls the curtains aside, though, they can see the man just standing in the back of the first class section, looking around. 

“Wiffle?” Little Neal whispers. “What is he looking for? Can you see him any better than I can?”

“I think he’s unzipping somebody’s bag,” Theo says. “It’s not his.”

“Is he putting something _in_ it? We should tell the flight attendant,” Little Neal says. 

“I can’t tell,” Theo says.

“I’ll tell her,” Katie says. “Adults always believe me because I have big baby-animal eyes.” 

“It’s not always good to look like a fawn,” Little Neal says, but he raises his hand to get the flight attendant’s attention so Katie can tell her. The flight attendant does seem to believe Katie, rushing towards the first class section without even looking at Theo or Little Neal. Little Neal can’t tell where they lead the shifty-looking man off to, but when they disembark, he doesn’t see the man anywhere around. Little Neal frowns at the signs until he figures out which way they need to go to get their luggage, and then they head in that direction, trying to walk like they know exactly what they’re doing. 

“There’s your bag, Lonni,” Little Neal says as soon as he spots Katie’s suitcase emerge. 

Katie grabs her suitcase from the carousel, then Little Neal and Theo’s bags come out onto the carousel, too. Theo has just picked up his bag when they see the shifty-looking man hurrying towards them, calling “Stop!” in their direction.

“It’s the suspicious man!” Katie says. “Let’s get out of here!”

“Pretend like we don’t hear him at all,” Little Neal says. “We’ll just walk calmly outside and find a taxi.” 

Their calm walk turns into a calm scurry as the shifty man almost catches up with them at the taxi line. Katie scrambles inside a waiting cab, with Little Neal just behind and Theo immediately behind him, and the cab pulls away just as the shifty-looking man puts his hand on the door handle. 

“Okay, that’s creepy,” Little Neal says, looking behind them. “Why was he so interested in us?” 

“I don’t know, but I’m glad we got away,” Theo says. 

“Où êtes-vous va?” the cab driver asks. 

“Hôtel du Louvre, s'il vous plaît,” Katie answers. 

Little Neal looks at her. “Did you just use a French accent and everything?” 

“What?” Katie says. “I practiced, for when I meet my maybe-other-dad.”

“I bet he knows English. Mom and Dad don’t speak French all the time!” 

“But Mom _can_ speak French,” Katie says.

“I still think Nathan Moreau knows English,” Little Neal says. “After we check in at the hotel, are we going straight to the Louvre?” 

“I think we should,” Theo says. “Our return tickets are for 36 hours from now.”

“Why didn’t we come up with a better excuse to get a longer window?” Little Neal laments, not for the first time. The short answer is that they probably are going to get found out even with the short window they did give themselves. 

“Because _Wiffle_ is a bad liar,” Katie says. 

“I don’t like to lie to my mom,” Theo says. “There’s nothing wrong with being an honest person.”

“Yeah, except it makes you bad at going to Paris secretly,” Katie points out.

“Sometimes Th—Wiffle sounds more like Dad than either of us,” Little Neal says. “I have a hard time picturing Dad going to Paris secretly.” 

“I can’t picture Dad going anywhere secretly,” Katie says. “Except maybe to a ballgame.”

Little Neal laughs. “Mom’d smell the Crackerjacks on his breath.” 

“Yeah, Dad can’t keep a secret,” Katie says. 

“Except for Nathan Moreau,” Little Neal says. “Ka—Lonni, can you ask the driver how much longer?” 

“À quelle distance?” Katie asks the driver. 

“Trente kilomètres,” the driver answers.

“Oh. Crap,” Katie says. 

“I take it that doesn’t mean three kilometers?” Little Neal asks. 

“More like thirty,” Katie says. “Maybe we should have him take us to the currency exchange place first.”

“The hotel website said they could exchange currency, as long as it’s not late at night,” Little Neal says. “We’ll be fine. And we’ll already be near the Louvre. We’ll just be a little bored on this drive, is all.”

“We only have fifty euros, though,” Katie says.

“Is the cab ride going to cost that much?” Theo asks. 

“We can exchange more at the hotel if we have to, but that sounds like a _lot_ of money for a cab ride,” Little Neal says. “We didn’t ask him to go fast or anything.” 

“Maybe we should’ve. This is taking forever,” Katie says.

“Don’t you still have your book?” Little Neal asks. “Read more in your book, and we’ll tell you when we get there.” 

“I get carsick,” Katie says.

“Take a nap?” 

“I’m going to read the street signs,” Katie says, turning to gaze out the window. 

“So,” Theo says quietly, leaning close to Little Neal. “Why do you think that creepy man was chasing us?”

Little Neal shakes his head. “If he were any kind of official, he would have shown his ID or badge or something. There’s no legal reason _he_ should have been.” 

“Maybe he knows our passports are fake,” Theo says. “Maybe he wanted a bribe or something not to tell. My mom says the world is full of shady characters who would take advantage of my trusting nature.”

“I don’t think that paying a bribe counts as being trusting. Do you think he wanted to kidnap Lonni?” Little Neal whispers. “Since he asked her about her seat?” 

“He might be a human trafficker,” Theo says. 

“We should probably keep her between us after this, then,” Little Neal says. “Don’t let her bring up the rear.” 

“We just can’t let her notice, or she’ll get mad.”

“She’ll get mad about something anyway,” Little Neal says as he rolls his eyes. “It might as well be because we’re keeping her away from the shifty sex trafficker.”

“Ew!” Theo says, lightly swatting at Little Neal’s arm. “I said _human_ trafficking, not _sex_ trafficking! She’s twelve!”

“Are you two talking about me?” Katie asks without looking away from the window.

“No,” Little Neal says. “We’re talking about how naïve Wiffle is.” 

“I’m not naïve. I’m trusting,” Theo says. 

“You know, you’re not very much like Uncle Fozzie,” Katie says. “You know he says don’t trust anybody.” She shrugs, still staring out the window. “Guess having the same name doesn’t mean anything, huh?”

“Hmph,” Little Neal says, glaring at Katie. “Guess we’d have to find out who _you’re_ named for to know.” 

“I’m not named after anybody,” Katie says. 

“I bet you are, and we don’t know who,” Little Neal says smugly.

“Mom and Dad never knew anybody named Katie,” Katie says. “They’ve never even mentioned a Katie.”

“Doesn’t mean anything.” Little Neal shrugs. “Maybe Nathan Moreau knew a Katie. Maybe Mom and Dad know that, and maybe that’s why they named you Katie.” 

Katie shrugs again. “Maybe.”

“I’m going to ask him,” Little Neal decides. “Since I don’t have any other burning questions, aside from how he knows Mom and Dad, period.” 

The cab finally pulls up in front of the Hôtel du Louvre, and Little Neal breathes a quiet sigh of relief that the fare is only forty euros. They pay as quickly as they can and get inside, Theo and Little Neal keeping Katie between them. She doesn’t seem to realize they’re doing that on purpose, which is good—Little Neal will argue about it with her if necessary, but as long as it’s not, he’d rather put it off. 

The front desk processes their reservation and directs them to the concierge for currency exchange, which only takes about ten minutes. Five minutes after that, Little Neal unlocks the door to their room and points to the bed farthest from the door. 

“You can have the bed near the window, Katie.” 

Katie narrows her eyes at Little Neal. “What’s going on?”

“You can’t share a bed with Theo, and I want him nearest the door, because he’s the oldest,” Little Neal says. “Even if he is the most naïve.” 

“I could share a bed with Theo. He’s our cousin!”

“You can’t share a bed with me because you kick in your sleep,” Theo says. 

“See?” Little Neal shrugs. “Let’s unpack so we can actually go to bed when we get back from the Louvre.” 

“I don’t kick in my sleep,” Katie grumbles to herself, plopping her suitcase onto her bed and unzipping it. “Uh, Little Neal?”

“I told you _three times_ to pack underwear, Katie!” 

“Did you tell me to pack my painting?”

“Your painting of what?” Little Neal asks, unzipping his own suitcase. “Is this a riddle?” 

“My painting of a lady playing a piano,” Katie says. Theo walks over to stand next to her.

“Wow,” Theo says, staring down at her suitcase. “Is that a Vermeer?”

“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know that?” Katie says. 

“If you didn’t put it in there, how did it get in there?” Little Neal says slowly. “And… Nathan Moreau works at the Louvre, he’d know if it was a Vermeer. Right?” 

“Probably. I mean, he should, I think,” Katie says. “I didn’t pack it. I’ve never seen it before.”

“Hey! Maybe that’s what the suspicious guy was doing!” Theo says. 

“Putting a painting in my suitcase?” Katie says. “That’s kind of lame.”

“Well, if it is a Vermeer, it’s probably stolen,” Little Neal says. “And your suitcase was probably the most distinctive.” 

“I keep telling Mom and Dad I’m too old for ladybugs!” Katie says, throwing her arms up into the air in a dramatic show of exasperation. 

“Now you’re the ladybug art-smuggler,” Theo offers. “That’s actually pretty cool.”

“It’s not cool. What’ll Dad say? He’ll be horrified that his only daughter smuggled stolen art out of the country. He’ll disown me, and I’ll have to go live with Uncle Fozzie in his secret lair!”

“We’ll get Nathan Moreau to help us. Maybe he can say that he found it lying around the Louvre,” Little Neal says. “We’ll just have to take it with us. People will think you’re an amateur trying to get a show.” 

“Or they’ll think I’m an art thief and they’ll arrest me and call Dad!” Katie says. She sounds horrified.

“Technically, they’d try to call Mr. and Mrs. Earlsterday,” Theo says.

“Not helping, Wiffle!” Katie says.

“Just roll it up and we’ll tease you about your work not being good enough yet. It’ll be fine,” Little Neal says. “But we need to go now.” 

“Okay, okay,” Katie says. She carefully rolls up the painting and tucks it under one arm. 

“We’ll walk,” Little Neal decides. “The ride here was so expensive, and it’s only a four or five minute walk. It’ll help us look casual.” The workers in the lobby nod to them as they leave, and Little Neal looks around to make sure he doesn’t see the shifty-looking man anywhere around them. Once they cross the street, no cars can follow them, which makes Little Neal relax a little bit more. He wishes the shifty-looking man—the probably art thief—didn’t know what Katie looked like, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. As they approach the front of the museum, Little Neal laughs. 

“We’re telling you, Lonni, they’re not going to give you a show!” 

“They might!” Katie says, projecting a little too well, like she’s on stage. “I’m a very talented young artist!”

“Emphasis on the _young_ ,” Little Neal says, holding the door open for Katie and Theo. 

“At least Wiffle believes in me. Right, Wiffle?”

Theo looks around a few times before responding, somewhat stiltedly, “Of course I do, Lonni. I have all the faith in the world in your artistic potential.”

“Potential, as in, twenty years from now,” Little Neal says. “Are you really insisting that we meet with your so-called contact?” 

“Of course! He’s my in for the art world!” Katie declares. “Now you’ll have to take my work seriously, Sped!”

“Or I can make fun of his so-called credentials,” Little Neal says. 

Katie smack’s Little Neal’s arm hard. “Show some respect, you plebeian!”

“Ow!” Little Neal glares at her. “Let’s just find this guy.” 

“Sorry. I was method acting,” Katie says.

“You don’t even know what method acting is,” Theo says. “You probably don’t know what a plebeian is, either.”

“I do!” Katie says.

“You don’t!” Theo says.

“I _might_!” Katie insists. 

“Let’s just go down this hallway,” Little Neal hisses. “Quietly down this hallway.” 

Little Neal thanks his lucky stars that Katie and Theo both fall silent as they walk down the hall that looks like it leads to offices instead of exhibits. There’s a set of doors that looks like it’s supposed to stay closed, but when Little Neal pushes them open, no alarm sounds, and they keep heading down that hallway. 

“Be ready to ask for him in French,” Little Neal hisses over his shoulder to Katie. 

Katie mutters, “Ou _vous_ pouvez apprendre le français.”

Little Neal shrugs. “Whatever.” He turns down another corner and slows up, ready to read the names beside each door. He’s able to tell at least one is not Nathan Moreau’s name when he hears Katie gasp as Theo squeaks, and then he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Que faites-vous ici?” booms a deep male voice immediately behind Little Neal. 

“No hablo French?” Little Neal stutters out. Theo just sort of flails awkwardly. Katie, on the other hand, promptly bursts into loud, dramatic tears, which the man with his hand on Little Neal’s shoulder—clearly dressed as a security guard—doesn’t seem to be able to handle. He withdraws his hand, making shushing noises at Katie instead, with both his hands held up.

“I just— I just—” Katie sobs. Because Little Neal has known her all his life, he knows it’s fake crying, not real crying, but the guard just looks more and more distressed. “I just wanted to find my daddy!” Big fat tears roll down Katie’s cheeks. The guard pulls out a white linen handkerchief and hands it to Katie, who mops at her face.

“Who is your daddy?” the security guard asks in heavily-accented English.

Katie sniffles. “Mr. Moreau. Nathan Moreau. He works here, but I got lost and I can’t find his office.” She doubles down on the tears, looking so distraught that Little Neal almost forgets it’s an act.

“It’s okay, Katie,” Theo says, patting Katie’s shoulder. “I bet this nice security guard could help us find his office.”

Katie sniffles again, dabbing her face with the handkerchief. “Really? Do you think so?” She gives the security guard the sad animal eyes. “Can you help me find my daddy’s office, please, Mr. Security Guard?”

Flustered, the security guard starts waving them down the hall. “Of course, of course! It is just the next turn up ahead. His name is on the door. Please do not cry, little girl.”

“Thank you, sir. You’re awfully nice,” Katie says. 

“It is nothing. No reason to be sad, see?” the guard says. “Just walk that way, and you shall find him.”

Katie rewards the guard with a huge smile. “Merci beaucoup!”

“You’re so conniving,” Little Neal says under his breath as they continue down the hall. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Katie says. “And I got this nice handkerchief out of it. I think it’s real linen!”

“How do you even do that?” Theo asks. “I can’t even make myself _not_ cry.”

“I just have loads and loads of natural talent,” Katie says, batting her eyes at Theo.

“Conniving,” Little Neal repeats, stopping in front of the door marked ‘Nathan Moreau’. “I’m knocking now.” After announcing it, he knocks four times before he can lose his nerve.

“Un moment!” a voice calls through the door.

“Ooh, he sounds handsome, too!” Katie says. “I bet that’s where I get my voice.”

“I bet it’s where you get your ego,” Theo says. Katie _hmphs_ at him. 

The door swings open, and Little Neal can feel his mouth open a little at the man standing in front of him. He barely keeps himself from blurting out something totally inappropriate about how hot he is, and he definitely recognizes the eyes—they look almost exactly like his sister’s. Or, Little Neal corrects himself, his sister’s look like Nathan Moreau’s. 

“Hi?” Little Neal says a little more breathlessly than he intends. 

Nathan Moreau steps away from the door, back to his desk, where he picks up the phone and starts dialing without ever looking away from Little Neal, Katie, and Theo. After a moment, Mr. Moreau speaks into the phone, saying, “Peter… can you explain to me why the children are here?”

“Oh crap!” Katie whispers. “We are _so_ busted.”

“We knew he knew Mom and Dad,” Little Neal points out. 

Nathan Moreau waves them into the office, still talking into the phone. “Uh huh. Yes. All three.” He motions for Little Neal to shut the door. “Not that I was aware of.” He points to Little Neal, Katie, and Theo, and then at the chairs along the wall of his office. “You can ask him yourself.” Mr. Moreau holds the phone out in Little Neal’s direction. 

“How do you know who I am?” Little Neal asks, not reaching for the phone yet. 

“Because I have eyes,” Mr. Moreau says, holding the phone out a little more aggressively.

Little Neal frowns at Mr. Moreau, which makes Mr. Moreau let out what Little Neal can only describe as an elegant snort of laughter.

“And if I didn’t already know, I would know now,” Mr. Moreau says, still holding the phone in Little Neal’s direction. “That’s the Peter Burke frown of disapproval. It’s practically patented.”

“Told you that you look like Dad,” Katie says.

“I didn’t ask you!” Little Neal says to Katie, then takes the phone, still scowling at Mr. Moreau. “We’ll be back in thirty-five hours, Dad.” 

“Neal Joseph Burke!” Peter thunders in Little Neal’s ear. Little Neal winces, because he knows that tone of voice. “You are coming home right now!” 

“Our tickets are for thirty-five hours from now. We already paid for the hotel,” Little Neal says in a rush. “And Katie maybe found a Vermeer!” 

“I don’t care, I don’t care, and— _what_?” Peter says, while Mr. Moreau simultaneously says, “ _What?_ ”

“It was in my suitcase!” Katie says proudly. “I smuggled it into the country.”

“Accidentally,” Theo adds.

“There was a shifty-looking man,” Little Neal says. “We’re fine, Dad! I promise!” 

“It might not really be a Vermeer,” Theo says. “I just thought it looked like one. I haven’t seen it before or anything.”

“It’s some lady playing a piano,” Katie says. 

“Uncle Fozzie’s taught you enough,” Little Neal says to Theo. “If you say it is, it is.” 

“I’m buying you three tickets right now!” Peter says. Little Neal suspects that his dad is not _actually_ buying the tickets, or at least not yet.

“Uncle _Fozzie_?” Mr. Moreau asks.

“He’s our uncle,” Theo says. “Sort of.”

“He lives in a secret lair!” Katie says.

“I don’t know what you three were thinking,” Peter almost yells. “Mr. Moreau is going to put—” 

“No, Dad,” Little Neal manages. “And his name isn’t really Fozzie, Mr. Moreau.”

“He delivered me in his secret lair,” Theo explains. 

“Not the same secret lair as now,” Katie says. “A different one. This one’s in a tree.”

“Yeah, the old one was in a sewer,” Theo says.

An odd look crosses Mr. Moreau’s face. “You’re talking about Moz—” 

“Put Neal back on the phone!” Peter says. 

“Uh, Dad?” Little Neal says. “I _am_ on the phone still.” 

Mr. Moreau sighs. “Did he ask for Neal?” Little Neal nods. “Give me the phone.”

“Is—” Little Neal stops and hands Mr. Moreau the phone slowly. “Is your name Neal?” 

Mr. Moreau sighs again, putting the phone to his ear. “You slipped up, Peter. Mmhmm. The boy noticed.” He shakes his head. “I know. They would have figured it out eventually. They _did_ manage to make it to Paris on their own. Which, speaking of—” 

“I made passports,” Theo says. “Uncle Fozzie taught me.”

“You need to have a word with Mozzie,” Mr. Moreau says into the phone. “Oh yes, he did. No, I haven’t looked at it yet.” He points at Katie, then moves his finger in a circle. She must understand his meaning, because she holds up the painting and unrolls it. “Uh… Peter? I’m going to have to call you back. Why? Because I’m looking at Vermeer’s _The Concert_. Yes, that _The Concert_. Yes. Katie. Mmhmm.” He gestures towards his desk. Katie places the painting on it, then steps back, practically glowing with excitement. “As soon as I get more information. You, too, and El.” Mr. Moreau hangs up the phone with a loud sigh and a shake of his head. 

Katie makes a show of spreading the painting out carefully on Mr. Moreau’s desk. “So it really _is_ a Vermeer?” she asks. 

“It’s not just _a_ Vermeer,” Mr. Moreau says. “It’s _the_ Vermeer. It was stolen in 1990.”

“Wow! Is it expensive?” Katie asks.

“It’s the single most valuable lost painting in the world,” Mr. Moreau replies.

“And Katie carried it to Paris in a ladybug suitcase,” Theo says, sounding awed.

“You didn’t have to mention the ladybug!” Katie says. 

“I guess that’s why he yelled stop,” Little Neal says, then stares at Mr. Moreau. “Wait. _You_ are named Neal, too?” 

“I thought your name was Nathan,” Katie says. “You’re Nathan Moreau, right?”

“Three Neals seems like a lot of Neals,” Little Neal says. 

“Who’s the other Neal?” Katie asks.

“Oh, wow,” Theo says. “For real?”

“What Neal?” Katie demands.

Mr. Moreau—possibly Neal—sighs. “You’re right, Neal. Three of us would be a lot of Neals.”

“Nobody calls him Neal,” Katie says. “He’s Little Neal.”

“Katie, I think we just found Big Neal,” Theo says.

Little Neal stares at Mr. Moreau who is probably Big Neal for what feels like a long time. “Do you know a Katie?” he finally asks. “Besides my sister, I mean.” 

“That’s a complicated question,” Mr. Moreau says.

“See?” Little Neal says to Katie. “I told you you were probably named after someone.” 

“Maybe we should focus on the Vermeer for a minute,” Mr. Moreau says. “You said something about a shifty-looking man?”

“He spent the whole flight in the bathrooms,” Katie says. 

“Katie had to use the first class bathroom, and then he went into it. After he asked her seat number,” Little Neal adds. 

“And he was looking through some lady’s bag!” Theo says.

Mr. Moreau nods. “Can you describe the man for me?” He picks up a pencil and a piece of paper from his desk.

“He had a mustache,” Katie says. “And his hair was kind of—”

“Slicked-back,” Theo says. “It was either greasy or he had a lot of stuff in it.”

Mr. Moreau nods again, starting to sketch something on the paper. “What was his face shaped like?”

“Long. His chin stuck out a little, but it was also square, not pointy,” Katie says.

“Good. Eyes?” Mr. Moreau asks, focusing his attention on Katie.

“Medium-sized. They kind of turned down at the corners like he was used to being sad all the time, but his mouth looked mean,” Katie continues. “Does that help?”

Mr. Moreau holds the paper up for Katie. “Like that?”

“His mouth was smaller and his lips were thinner,” Katie says.

“His eyebrows were lower, too,” Theo says. 

“Good,” Mr. Moreau says again. “Neal? Anything you can add?”

“His eyes were really flat. Empty, but they moved around a lot,” Little Neal says. “Not too deep-set.” 

Mr. Moreau sketches a little longer, then holds up his drawing for the three of them to see. Little Neal nods, then looks at Theo. Theo nods, too, and then Katie, as well. 

“You’re sure?” Mr. Moreau asks. 

“Yeah, it’s almost perfect,” Little Neal says as he nods his head again. 

“His name is Julian Summers. He’s a two-bit thief-turned-dealer based out of New Mexico,” Mr. Moreau says. “There’s no way he was involved with the original theft. That was a masterful job. He’s nowhere near that caliber.”

“So he’s selling it for somebody else?” Katie asks. “Or delivering it, maybe?”

“That’s the more likely scenario,” Mr. Moreau agrees. 

“But who?” Theo asks.

“So you’re my dad, right?” Katie asks.

“Katie!” Little Neal says. “Focus! You found a really famous painting, remember?” 

“It’s important!” Katie insists.

“Your father is Peter Burke,” Mr. Moreau says. “And I do have an idea of who might be in the market for this painting.”

“But my birth certificate was in your file,” Katie says.

“I’m sure your father misfiled it,” Mr. Moreau says. 

“She does have your eyes,” Little Neal says, shrugging. “Who wants the painting?” 

“Do you think Uncle Peter’s calling my mom right now?” Theo asks. 

“I’m sure he is,” Mr. Moreau says. “Diana’s going to be thrilled.”

“At least she probably won’t fly over here,” Little Neal tells Theo. “And eventually we’re going to find out who the person who wants the painting is.” 

“If I’m right, and I’m usually right, we’re looking for Dominique Marchand, or more accurately, _Lady_ Dominique Marchand,” Mr. Moreau says.

“So she’s like French royalty?” Katie asks. “That is _so_ cool.”

Mr. Moreau nods. “She’s also rumored to have the largest collection of black market paintings in Europe, the second largest collection in the world after the Texan.”

“Art villains have the _best_ names!” Katie squeals. 

“Yeah, like James Bonds?” Little Neal says. 

Theo lets out a little yelp. “Little Neal!”

“What?” 

“You can’t just ask people about their sobriquets!” Theo says.

“Is that like a tourniquet?” Katie asks. 

“Yes, like James Bonds, or any of the other nicknames thieves are given by the FBI or Interpol, or that they choose for themselves,” Mr. Moreau says. “Now, the real question is, what’s Lady Marchand going to do when she doesn’t receive her painting?”

“Maybe we’ll end up in a high speed car chase!” Katie says. “That would be so awesome!”

“They’ll come after The Ladybug,” Little Neal says. “See, Katie, now you have a name!”

“I don’t want to be The Ladybug!” 

“I think we should avoid high speed chases if possible,” Mr. Moreau says. 

Katie crosses her arms and looks sulky. “None of you are any fun.”

“I totally tried to give you an art villian name. It’s not my fault you didn’t like it.” 

Mr. Moreau barely disguises his snort of laughter. “Maybe becoming an art villain isn’t a great goal. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Anyway, I already have a cool name. My name is Lonni Earlsterday,” Katie says.

“Lonni Earlsterday?” Mr. Moreau asks. 

“It says so on my passport,” Katie says, hands on her hips. “Wiffle and Uncle Fozzie made them. Well, mostly Wiffle.”

“Wiffle?”

Theo raises his hand. “I’m not really good at aliases.”

“He didn’t ask us for any input,” Little Neal says. “Sped is pretty hard to remember.” 

Katie sticks her tongue out at Little Neal. “Shut up, Sped.”

“Sped and Lonni Earlsterday? Wiffle Podack? Those are terrible,” Mr. Moreau says. “I’m sure we can come up with something better.”

“Art crime! Yay!” Katie says.

“But first, we’re going to contact INTERPOL, which could be a little tricky,” Mr. Moreau says.

“Tricky how?” Katie asks.

“Neal?” Mr. Moreau says. “Would you like to field this one?”

“I don’t think Mr. Moreau needs to be talking to INTERPOL, Katie,” Little Neal says. “Especially not if Dad gets involved and slips up again.” 

“Why can’t he talk to INTERPOL?” Katie asks.

“Because his real name isn’t Nathan Moreau!” Little Neal says. 

“Though as far as the Louvre and the French government are concerned, it is,” Mr. Moreau says. 

“Also we’re traveling on fake passports,” Little Neal adds. “Does this mean we _have_ to get Dad or Aunt Diana here?” 

“But if you aren’t really Nathan Moreau, then who’s my dad?” Katie asks. 

“Peter Burke,” Mr. Moreau says.

“Katie, stop,” Little Neal says. “We have to figure out INTERPOL first.” 

“But we didn’t come here for INTERPOL,” Katie says. “We came here to talk to Nathan Moreau, so if he’s not Nathan Moreau, then maybe we don’t really need to talk to him.”

“Nathan Moreau is a pseudonym, Katie, just like Lonni and Wiffle,” Theo says. 

“Then who is he?” Katie demands.

“He’s _Neal_ , Katie,” Little Neal says. “Actual Big Neal.” 

“Neal? Neal like Neal Caffrey? That Neal?” Katie asks.

“Duh, Katie,” Theo says. “Like Little Neal said, three Neals would be a lot of Neals.”

“So… wait. Does that mean Neal Caffrey is my dad?” Katie asks. “Neal Caffrey, the actual Neal Caffrey? I thought he was dead!”

“Neal Caffrey is dead,” Mr. Moreau says, “but Nathan Moreau used to be Neal Caffrey.”

“That is _so_ cool!” Katie says. 

“But we can’t tell anyone. Especially not INTERPOL,” Little Neal says. “That’s why it’s all tricky, right? Can we not just… leave the Vermeer somewhere for someone else to find?” 

“I’m concerned about what might happen to the three of you if we did that,” Mr. Moreau—Big Neal—says. “Lady Marchand will try to recover the painting if we hold on to it too long, and we risk someone else taking it if we don’t hand it over ourselves.”

“What about the security guard that Katie tricked? Couldn’t we just ask him to turn it in at the front desk?” Little Neal asks. 

“How long until you fly back to the U.S.?” Big Neal asks. 

“Less than thirty-six hours,” Theo says. “Why?”

“So I just need to keep you out of Summers’ path for a day and a half,” Big Neal says. “I can do that.”

“Does that mean we get quality time together?” Katie asks. “Awesome!”

“Do we have to stay at the Louvre? Can we go to your place? Do you have food?” Theo asks.

“Oh, yeah, I’m hungry, too,” Katie says. 

“But we can’t let him get _you_ , right?” Little Neal says. “How are you going to do this?” 

“If you flew here under false names, there’s nothing to connect you to me. I’ll take the three of you back to my place, make a few calls, and see what we can’t figure out,” Big Neal says. “I have a… professional acquaintance, we’ll call her. She’s based in London and might be able to help us out.”

“This is the coolest trip ever in my whole entire life,” Katie says.

“Who do we know in London?” Little Neal asks Theo. 

Theo shrugs. “I don’t know anybody in London. Hey, we could call Uncle Fozzie and ask him!”

“Uncle Fozzie,” Big Neal repeats. “Has he changed his name again?”

“We just call him that,” Katie says.

“Fozzie like the Muppet,” Little Neal adds. “You know, the bear?” 

“I’m familiar with the bear, yes,” Big Neal says. 

“Uncle Fozzie _does_ look like him,” Little Neal says. “Plus it’s another alias, he says.” 

“Ah. So Mozzie becomes Fozzie, and no one’s the wiser,” Big Neal says. “That’s typical Mozzie. Er, Fozzie.” He shakes his head, smiling to himself. “And he knows you came here?”

“Well, we didn’t tell him exactly _who_ we were going to see,” Theo says. 

“Yeah, just that we needed to get out of the country and back without our parents knowing,” Katie says. “He was really proud of us.”

“He did seem disappointed we weren’t bringing him back any souvenirs, though,” Little Neal says. “Do you have something we could take back to him?” 

“I’m sure I have something,” Big Neal says.

“If Julian Summers finds us, will we have a shoot-out?” Katie asks.

“How old are you now, Katie?” Big Neal asks. 

“Twelve.”

“Don’t you think twelve is a little early to start participating in shoot-outs?” 

Katie shrugs. “I never thought about it as an age thing. My Mom says I’ve very mature.”

“Also, I don’t really like guns,” Big Neal says. 

“I don’t think they allow guns in France,” Little Neal says. “Is that why you live here?” 

“I came here for the job,” Big Neal says. “Plus, if I can’t be in New York, Paris is the next best place.”

“So let’s go to your place, you can call your friend, and then we’ll talk about how you’re my dad!” Katie says, practically bouncing in place in her excitement.

“Or we can just eat when we get there,” Little Neal says quickly. 

“No way! I have questions. Lots of questions,” Katie says.

Big Neal rolls up the painting and tucks it under his arm, then picks up a hat from a hook by the door and flips it onto his head to the sound of Katie’s delighted squeeing. He looks over his shoulder. “Are you kids coming?”

“No more questions until we get there,” Little Neal hisses at Katie. 

“Fiiiiiine,” Katie says. 

“Pull that door closed, will you, Theo?” Big Neal asks. Theo nods and closes the door, then the three of them follow Big Neal down the hallway. 

When they pass by the security guard from earlier, he waves. “You found your daddy?” he asks Katie. 

Katie plasters on a picture-day smile and links her arm through Big Neal’s. “Yep!”

Little Neal expects for them to call a cab or get in a car, but instead they keep walking, following Big Neal around Paris for what feels like half an hour. Little Neal knows it’s probably only ten minutes or so, but it’s been a very long day, between sneaking out of the country, finding a stolen Vermeer, and then finding Big Neal alive, so he tells himself it’s okay to be tired of walking. 

“Do you think we’re going to be grounded for a full year?” Little Neal whispers to Theo while they wait on Big Neal to open his door. 

“Oh yeah. I probably won’t see you again until college,” Theo says. “That’s _if_ my mom doesn’t just kill me.”

“Unfortunately, they know how to hide bodies,” Little Neal says with a deep sigh as they walk into Big Neal’s apartment. 

“Wow! This place is amazing!” Katie says. She isn’t wrong. The apartment is an open loft with tall windows, filled with furniture Little Neal thinks is Art Deco. It’s also filled with art, hanging on the walls, propped against furniture, and on easels. 

“It’s home, at least for now,” Big Neal says. “Help yourselves to anything you want in the kitchen. I’ll put together some dinner in a little bit.”

“Can we have wine?” Little Neal asks, more because he expects Katie to ask and wants to preempt her than out of any desire for wine himself. 

“Uh, no,” Big Neal says. 

“But it’s Paris!” Katie says.

“Yes, and I know your parents,” Big Neal says. “So no.”

“See?” Little Neal says, looking triumphantly at Katie. 

“What?” Katie says. “I didn’t ask! You did!”

“’Cause I knew you would, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t try to take any once we got in the kitchen.” 

“I’m not a thief!” Katie says, then instantly looks stricken. “Sorry, Big Neal.”

“No offense taken. I was a thief. That’s completely factual,” Big Neal says. He takes off his hat and his coat, hanging them on the rack near the door, and begins rolling up his sleeves. “Now, do any of you have any preferences as to food?”

“I’m allergic to shellfish,” Theo says.

“I don’t like cauliflower,” Little Neal says. “That’s all. Mom says it’s a weird vegetable not to like when I’ll eat the other ones.” 

“So no shellfish, no cauliflower, and _no wine_ ,” Big Neal says, giving Katie a pointed look. Katie puts her hands up like she’s proving she isn’t in the process of stealing any wine. Big Neal opens the refrigerator and starts pulling out ingredients and stacking them on the wooden butcher’s block in the center of the kitchen. “I’ve got some fruit and some other snacks in that pantry,” he says, nodding his head at a detached wooden pantry next to the kitchen. 

“Maybe you can have some grapes, Katie,” Little Neal says. Katie _hmphs_ and starts rummaging in the pantry. Little Neal can see her popping grapes into her mouth while she keeps looking, finally returning with a brown paper bag that appears to be full of croissants. 

While Big Neal begins preparing dinner, which he explains is going to be wild mushroom risotto and orange-glazed duck breast, Katie barrages him with questions, mostly pertaining to the last time he had seen their parents and under what circumstances.

“So, it had to have been thirteen years, right?” Katie asks.

“What makes you say that?” Big Neal says. He dices mushrooms and tosses them into the pan with the rice.

“Because I’m twelve, and they haven’t gone to France since I’ve been alive,” Katie says.

Big Neal responds with a small hum and a tilt of his head. “Are you sure about that?”

“Why would they lie about going to Paris? It’s legal to go to Paris,” Katie says.

“Unless they were trying to cover their tracks for some reason,” Big Neal offers. “Can you think of a reason they might do that?”

“Because he’s _actually_ Big Neal, Katie,” Little Neal says. “They can’t just go to Paris all the time.” 

“No, he’s Nathan Moreau!” Katie says. “It’s good enough for the Louvre.”

“And if Peter Burke visited the Louvre regularly but not for work, they’d probably think that was weird,” Little Neal says. “Right?” 

“Exactly,” Big Neal says. “Peter would never put El in danger, and I wouldn’t put either of them in danger.”

“And Dad wouldn’t put _you_ in danger, either,” Katie says. Big Neal nods, then he starts heating up another pan, presumably for the duck. 

Little Neal frowns as he thinks. “Does Aunt Diana know? Or Uncle Fozzie?” he finally asks. 

“It’s not my place to assume what they do or don’t know,” Big Neal says.

“So you don’t _talk_ to them, is what you mean?” Little Neal says. “If you talked to them, you wouldn’t have to make assumptions.” 

“Hard to maintain an alias, once people start knowing who you really are. One person, two people, you can keep up to the story, but once you cross that line, you never really know how many people have you figured out,” Big Neal says. 

“What about your friend that you’re calling about the painting?” Katie asks.

“Oh, she doesn’t know. _Definitely_ couldn’t explain that one.” Big Neal adds the duck breasts to the hot pan. They sizzle and pop. “Still, she’ll help us out with the painting all the same. And technically, I’m not the one who’s going to call her.”

“Who’s going to call her? Dad?” Little Neal asks. 

“You,” Big Neal says. 

“Me?” Little Neal looks at Big Neal skeptically. “Is this like… name-hazing?” 

“More like the importance of name recognition,” Big Neal says. “She’ll help you out, as soon as she hears your name.”

“First or last?” 

“Both.”

Little Neal sighs. “Can I eat dinner first?” 

“Of course,” Big Neal says. He continues cooking while Little Neal, Theo, and Katie talk and explore the loft, and before too much longer, he’s setting the table with large portions of risotto and duck. Katie dives right into hers like she eats duck every day, while Theo picks at his, looking suspicious, before he takes a small bite. 

“This is good,” Little Neal says after he scoops up a lot of the risotto. “You could probably work as a chef.” 

“It’s just a hobby,” Big Neal says.

“Did you cook for my mom and dad when they visited you?” Katie asks. 

“Sure,” Big Neal says. “I always cook for guests.”

“So where’d I come from?” Katie asks. “Did you and my mom have one of those torrid affairs?”

“Katie!” Theo says. 

“What? It’s a valid question!” Katie says. “Right, Little Neal? I mean, that’s what we came here to find out, right?”

“Maybe we don’t need to know the _details_ ,” Little Neal says. “You’re talking about Mom!” 

“Yeah, but he hasn’t even admitted he’s my dad yet,” Katie says, placidly shoveling more duck and risotto into her mouth.

“Because I’ve already told you that Peter Burke is your father,” Big Neal says.

“Well, yeah, he’s my _dad_ -dad, but your my other dad. My biodad,” Katie says. “Little Neal says I’ve got your eyes.”

“So, do you think there’s a reward for the painting?” Theo asks loudly.

“Five million dollars, last time I checked,” Big Neal says. 

“Will your friend help us get the reward somehow?” Little Neal asks. 

Big Neal shrugs. “It’s hard to say, since none of you are here under your real names.”

“But back to me and my biological parentage,” Katie says. “Can’t you just answer the question?”

“No,” Big Neal says. “I’m sorry. That’s a question you have to ask your _parents_ about. It’s not my place to answer it. All I can say is that Peter and Elizabeth Burke are both listed on your birth certificate and are your parents.”

“So we flew all the way to Paris for nothing?” Katie asks.

“Well, we did help smuggle in the world’s most expensive missing painting, too,” Theo says. “That’s going to be a pretty cool story to tell.”

“Just drop it for now,” Little Neal hisses at Katie. “Okay?” 

“This trip would be way cooler if everybody stopped trying to boss me around!” Katie says. 

"That's not any different than at home, Katie," Little Neal says. "I don't know why you expected anything different."

“Uh, because it’s _Paris_ ,” Katie says. “What’s the point of running away to Paris with a fake passport if everybody’s going to act the same as at home?”

Little Neal shrugs and eats some of his duck. “Some things don’t change with the time zone.” 

“Well, it’s stupid,” Katie says. 

“Well, you’re obtuse,” Little Neal says mockingly. 

“You’re insufferable!” Katie says. “And I hate you. You’re only my half-brother, anyway!”

“Katie, that’s enough,” Big Neal says. “Apologize to your brother.”

“ _Half_ -brother,” Katie says.

“Katie,” Big Neal says, his tone sharper.

“I thought you weren’t my dad,” Katie says.

“If I’m not your dad, then he’s not your half-brother, so apologize to your brother,” Big Neal says. 

“No,” Katie says. “You can’t make me.”

“Maybe we should finish our dinner,” Theo says.

“And then I’ll do my name-hazing,” Little Neal says. “She’ll really recognize my name?” 

“Trust me, she’ll recognize it,” Big Neal says. 

Little Neal frowns but nods and goes back to eating, hoping that Katie will follow his lead. After he has a second helping of risotto, he sighs and pushes away from the table. “Okay. Let’s figure this out before Summers comes after the Ladybug.” 

“Don’t call me that! I’d rather be called Lonni Earlsterday!” Katie says. 

Little Neal ignores her and looks at Big Neal. “What’s the name of the person I’m calling?” 

“Her name is Sara Ellis, but you’ll be talking to her personal assistant, whom I believe is named Kenny,” Big Neal says. “Tell him to tell her Neal is calling.”

“Just Neal?” Little Neal asks, holding out his hand. “I assume I’m using your phone?” 

“First name for starters,” Big Neal says, punching a number into the phone and then handing it to Little Neal as it starts to ring. 

Little Neal takes a deep breath and as soon as he hears a man’s voice answer, he says “Neal is calling for Sara Ellis.” 

“Can you hold?” the man—probably Kenny—asks. 

“Sure,” Little Neal says, holding his breath for a few seconds before he catches himself. 

“Hello?” a woman’s voice says. “Who is this? I know who it’s _not_.”

“Hi,” Little Neal says. “A, uh, friend of mine said you’d know my name. Neal Burke?” 

“Neal… Burke? As in Peter Burke?”

“Yeah. That’s my dad,” Little Neal says. “My friend says you can help my sister and my cousin and me.” 

“Help you with what, exactly?”

“A man named Julian Summers put a Vermeer in my sister Katie’s suitcase, and now Theo and Katie and I have to get rid of it before Lady—” Little Neal breaks off and looks at Big Neal. “What was her name again?” he whispers. 

“Lady Marchand,” Big Neal whispers back.

“Before Lady Marchand comes looking for it,” Little Neal finishes. 

“Lady _Marchand_?” Sara repeats sharply. “Neal, what painting do you have, exactly?”

“A Vermeer that’s the most valuable missing painting in the world?” Little Neal says. 

Little Neal can hear Sara’s voice catch. “Neal… do you have _The Concert_?”

“Yeah. That’s the one,” Little Neal says, forcing himself to try to sound casual. “We, uh, flew on faked passports that Uncle Fozzie helped us with, so we can’t really turn it in. And neither can my friend.” 

“Uncle Fozzie?”

“I don’t know if you know who he is,” Little Neal. “I think he changes his name sometimes, but that’s not really important. Can you take the Vermeer or whatever it is my friend thinks you can do?” 

“Who’s your friend, Neal? Is it your Uncle Fozzie?”

“No.” Little Neal frowns. “Someone has to take the painting, or they’re going to try to find Katie again.” 

“Katie?” Sara says. “Your sister’s name is Katie?”

“Yes,” Little Neal says, feeling a little smug. Whoever Sara Ellis is, their names do make a difference. “She’s only twelve.” 

“Where are you right now, Neal?”

Little Neal sighs. “Paris.” 

“And what’s your friend’s name?”

Little Neal moves the phone and looks at Big Neal. “She wants to know your name.” 

Big Neal sighs. “Tell her or don’t. It’s up to you.”

“Um,” Little Neal says. “Neal.” 

Sara lets out a shot, bitter-sounding laugh. “Sure it is, kid. You don’t want to tell me. That’s fine. You want me to come to Paris to pick up the most sought-after painting in the world, because you and your sister are in France on forged passports you got from somebody named Foz— Wait. _Mozzie_? Is your Uncle Fozzie actually named Mozzie?”

“I guess you do know him,” Little Neal says. “And Theo’s here, too, but we’re not sure how mad Aunt Diana is. I don’t know who _you_ are, though, so how would I have your number if I didn’t get it from Neal?” 

“Neal Caffrey is dead, Neal Burke, a fact I’m sure you know,” Sara says. “If Mozzie’s involved, God only knows what crazy scheme he’s put you up to. Text me a picture of the painting, front and back. If it checks out, I’ll call you back at this number in two hours.”

“What’s something I could ask him and text you the answer?” Little Neal asks. “What’s one more text?” 

“Nice try, kid. Send me the picture, and if there’s a deal to be made, you’ll hear from me.”

“She’s talking about a deal,” Little Neal says to Big Neal. “What kind of deal does she mean? We just want her to take it off our hands.” 

“She works for Sterling Bosch. It’s an insurance company that recovers stolen art, among other things. She’s not used to getting paintings with no strings attached,” Big Neal says. 

“She wants a picture,” Little Neal says, then turns back to the phone. “We don’t need a deal, just someone to take it.” 

“You’re not interested in the reward?” Sara asks. “I admit, it could be a little difficult, with you being in France illegally.”

“And three of us being underage and one being legally dead?” Little Neal says. “Those are also obstacles.” 

“Two hours, Neal,” Sara says, then the call ends abruptly. 

Little Neal sighs. “We have to text her a picture of the front and the back, and she says she’ll call back in two hours.” 

“Then we’d better get those pictures,” Big Neal says. He unrolls the painting, then takes the phone from Little Neal, snapping pictures of the front and back, which he then sends to Sara’s number. 

“So, who’s Sara?” Katie asks.

Little Neal shakes his head. “I want to know who Katie is named after. Sara knew that name.” 

Big Neal sighs loudly, then walks over to the wine rack near his kitchen, taking out a bottle. As he removes the cork, he says, “She was my girlfriend.”

“Which one? Katie or Sara?” Katie asks.

“Well, both of them, actually. At different times.” Big Neal pours himself a glass of wine. “And she went by Kate. Kate Moreau.”

“You didn’t pick a very good alias,” Little Neal says, then shrugs sheepishly. “I mean, if people knew her name.” 

“The only people who would look for me using her name are the people I would’ve wanted to find me anyway,” Big Neal says.

“Like my mom?” Katie asks.

“Like your parents, yes,” Big Neal says. 

“It was nice of them to name Katie after her, then,” Little Neal says. “It _was_ both of them, right?” 

“Your mother didn’t run away to Paris to have a torrid affair with me, Neal,” Big Neal says. 

“That would have been soooo romantic though, right?” Katie says. “I mean, probably more romantic if she wasn’t my mom, but still.”

“And your parents both knew how much Kate meant to me. I’m glad to see her namesake is just as feisty as she was.” Big Neal smiles and drinks more of his wine. 

Little Neal laughs. “I didn’t ask if my mom did. I asked if it was both of them. You’re the one who wanted to make sure we knew you didn’t date Kate and Sara at the same time.” 

“I think I’m a little uncomfortable with this line of questioning, kids,” Big Neal says. 

“Okay,” Little Neal says, looking over at Theo for a moment. “Will she really make us wait two hours?” 

“Oh yes. To the minute.”

“She sounds really awesome,” Katie says. “Do you have any pictures?”

“No. I have a painting, though,” Big Neal says. 

“Can we nap after you show us?” Little Neal asks. 

“How about you nap first, and I’ll show you after,” Big Neal says. “Theo’s already half-asleep.”

“Nuh-uh,” Theo says, but his head is on the table, cradled in his arm. 

“C’mon, Theo, we’ll steal Big Neal’s bed,” Little Neal says. 

“Yeah, ’kay,” Theo says, standing up. Big Neal waves them towards the bed. 

“Katie, the sofa’s very comfortable,” Big Neal says.

“I want to stay awake and see the painting!” 

“Can you stay awake quietly?” Big Neal asks.

“If you show me the painting,” Katie says. 

“It’s in the closet. We’ll let the boys get some sleep, okay? I’ll pull out the paintings, and you can look through them.”

“Awesome!” Katie says. 

Theo drops onto the left side of Big Neal’s bed, his face buried in the pillow. Little Neal lies down beside him and closes his eyes. “’Night, Theo.” 

“Mmhmm,” Theo mumbles. 

Little Neal can hear Katie exclaiming quietly over each new painting, and then the next thing he hears is the phone dinging loudly, and he knows two hours have passed. 

“Is that Sara?” he asks as he sits up. 

“She says it looks like the real deal, and she’ll call with the details in a few minutes,” Big Neal says. 

Little Neal looks around and sees that Katie is sacked out on the sofa, and Theo is still asleep beside him. He slips off the bed and walks back to the table. “How long did Katie last?” 

“She’s been asleep about thirty minutes,” Big Neal says. “She’s high-energy, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how she didn’t tell Mom and Dad about—” Little Neal stops and frowns. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom knew.” 

Big Neal chuckles. “I wouldn’t, either. Your mom’s a sharp lady.”

“Is Sara smart like Mom?” 

“She’s smart, but not the same as El,” Big Neal says. “Not more or less, but different.”

“Like me and Katie and Theo,” Little Neal says with a nod. 

“You’re definitely all smart, too.”

“I couldn’t fake a passport, though. And Theo is bad at aliases.” Little Neal jumps when Big Neal’s phone rings. “Is that her?” 

“You want to do the honors?” Big Neal asks, holding the phone out. “This is your show.”

“Sara?” Little Neal says as soon as he answers the phone. “It’s Neal Burke.” 

“Mr. Burke. The painting looks authentic, at least as much as we can assess via a photograph. Congratulations!” Sara says. “I’m booked on the next flight to Paris. I’ll be arriving at 8am your time.”

“I don’t actually know what time it is here,” Little Neal admits. 

“A little past midnight,” Big Neal whispers.

“Where would you like to meet?” Sara asks. 

“Where should we meet her?” Little Neal hisses to Big Neal. “The airport is an expensive cab ride.” 

“Louise Café, on Rue Croix des Petits Champs,” Big Neal says. “Tell her to wear that blue dress with the red belt, if she still has it.”

Little Neal repeats the café’s name and address, then adds “And wear your blue dress with the red belt if you still have it.” 

“Blue dress with a red belt? I haven’t had anything like that for almost fifteen ye—” Sara stops abruptly. “Neal? Are you really with Neal Caffrey right now?”

“He doesn’t _go_ by Neal Caffrey anymore,” Little Neal says. 

“Then you tell him I say he’s a bastard, and he’d better be with you at the café, or I’m going to hunt him down and ruin him,” Sara says. 

Little Neal grins at Big Neal. “Sara says you have to be with me for the meeting, or she’s going to hunt you down. Oh, and that you’re a bastard.” 

Big Neal smiles ruefully. “Of course she does. Tell her we’ll see her there with the painting. Oh, and warn her not to pull anything, or the painting disappears again, and so do I.”

“Sara? Big Neal says if you pull anything, he and the painting will disappear,” Little Neal says. “We’ll meet you there.” 

“I very much look forward to meeting you, Neal Burke.”

“Us too.” Little Neal ends the call and hands the phone back to Big Neal. “She says she’ll be here at 8 am.” 

“You should get a little more sleep,” Big Neal says. 

“Okay,” Little Neal agrees, walking back to the bed and lying down beside Theo again. “Good night, Big Neal.” 

“Goodnight, Little Neal,” Big Neal says.

Little Neal wakes up when Theo accidentally kicks him while stretching, and Little Neal sits up, startled until he remembers where they are. “Oh. Is it time to go?” he asks Theo. 

“Go where?” Theo asks. 

“To meet Sara about the painting,” Little Neal says. “We have to be there at 8 am. You and Katie were asleep when she called back.”

“But she’s definitely going to take it?”

Little Neal nods. “She finally believed me about Big Neal, too. She said she’s going to hunt him down.” 

“Wow!” Theo says. “That’s intense!”

“It could be the kind of hunting down he’d like. I wasn’t sure,” Little Neal says, sliding off the bed. “We’re meeting her at a café.” 

“And she’ll take the painting back to whoever it belongs to?”

“And we don’t have to worry about anyone coming after us, under any name.” 

“Good,” Theo says. 

The Louise Café is almost back at the Louvre, and Little Neal can’t help but look around nervously as they walk through the relatively empty Parisian streets. There’s no reason that anyone should know they have a world-famous missing painting with them, or that Nathan Moreau is actually a dead man, or that three of them are traveling on forged passports, but he feels nervous all the same. They arrive at the café and order just after 8 am, and then sit and wait for Sara Ellis to arrive. 

Little Neal doesn’t watch the door; instead he watches Big Neal watch the door, and consequently, he sees Big Neal straighten and knows when to look at Sara Ellis walking in. The woman entering is wearing a light pink dress with a matching jacket, and she scans the room for only a moment before stalking to their table and slapping Big Neal. 

“Fifteen years!” she says. “ _Fifteen_ years!”

“Hi, Sara,” Big Neal says.

“Is that _her_?” Katie says. “She’s so _pretty_!”

“Well, of course he’d have a pretty girlfriend!” Little Neal says. 

“Have you been in Paris this entire time? Didn’t you think I might appreciate knowing that you weren’t dead?” Sara demands. 

“She’s so awesome,” Katie whispers. 

“And you had a _kid_ with somebody?” Sara says, pointing at Katie.

“Not somebody,” Little Neal protests. “My parents.” 

“Wait,” Sara says. “ _This_ is your sister?”

“Technically, I haven’t confirmed that,” Big Neal says to Little Neal. 

“We’re not blind,” Little Neal says with a shrug. 

Sara looks appalled. “You had an affair with El? How could you do that Peter?”

Big Neal looks very uncomfortable. “Uh, Sara, can we maybe not do this in front of the children?”

“Oh, we’re doing this. When I’m done with this whole painting situation, I am coming back, and we are doing this,” Sara says. 

“I think it was fine with my dad,” Little Neal says quietly to Sara. “But can you take the painting before that weird guy shows up?” 

Sara keeps pointing, not looking any less horrified or mad, but she does at least seem willing to change the subject. “You’re Neal Burke?” Little Neal nods. “Show me the painting.”

“I have the painting!” Katie says. “I’m the one who smuggled it!”

“Accidentally,” Theo says.

“And who are you?” Sara asks.

“He’s Theo,” Little Neal says. “Aunt Diana’s kid.” 

“Of course he is. It’s an underage FBI reunion,” Sara says. “Fine. Small Burke and/or Caffrey child, unroll the painting.”

“His name is _Nathan Moreau_ now,” Katie stage-whispers. “And we’re Sped and Lonni Earlsterday. Theo’s Wiffle Podack.”

“None of this makes any sense, but I’m going to go with it for now,” Sara says, gesturing with her angry pointing finger for Katie to unroll the painting. Once Sara sees the painting, however, she seems to forget to be mad. She pulls out a little one-eye telescope thing and uses it to look at the painting, her mouth gaping open a little bit.

“I smuggled a good one, huh,” Katie says.

“I’ll still need to run some tests on it,” Sara says, “but the cracks are right. Of course,” she tucks the telescope thing away again, “you’re here with one of the best, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“That would be quite the long-game,” Big Neal says.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Sara says.

“Do we get a reward?” Katie asks. “’Cause I really want one of those scooters with the motor on it, but my dad says it’s too expensive, and my mom says the hospital bills would be too expensive.”

“I just tell her ‘no’,” Little Neal says. 

“Oh my God, he sounds just like Peter,” Sara says.

“It’s a little disconcerting, isn’t it?” Big Neal asks.

“Why didn’t you marry her?” Katie asks. “She’s awesome.”

“She moved to London,” Big Neal says.

“So?” Katie says. “You fake-died and moved to Paris.”

“She’s got a point, Neal,” Sara says.

“I wasn’t in a position to marry anyone,” Big Neal says.

“But you _were_ in a position to father a child on El?” Sara says. “What is wrong with you?”

“I like her,” Katie says. “It’s not too late to marry, I bet.”

“She might be married to someone else,” Little Neal says. 

Katie shakes her head. “Nuh-uh. Her dress is too nice. She dressed up to impress Neal.”

“I don’t dress up to impr—” Little Neal stops and glares at Katie. 

“You don’t have to impress somebody you’ve known since you were born,” Katie says, hands on her hips.

“Um. So, are you taking the painting?” Theo asks Sara. “We have to fly back to New York to get grounded for life tomorrow, so we should probably figure this out.”

“I’ll take the painting,” Sara says. “I have to speak to someone at our Paris office, and they’ll send someone to take it to a secure location for testing.”

“What happens if Lady what’s-her-face comes looking for it?” Katie asks.

“I’m not afraid of some old French woman who bought her title with a bad Rembrandt copy,” Sara says. “Let her try to come after this painting. Sterling Bosch will handle her.”

“Yeah, but what if she comes after us?” Theo asks.

“Can Sterling Bosch ride on the plane back to New York with us?” Katie asks.

“Or Big Neal could come with us,” Little Neal says. “That would work.” 

“Oh no,” Sara says. “Big Neal here is going to stay and have a big talk with me. I’m sure I can arrange for someone to ride on the plane with you.”

“I think Big Neal’s definitely in trouble,” Katie whispers to Little Neal.

Little Neal nods. “We’ll get him on the plane if he wants to,” he whispers back.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to,” Theo says. “ _I_ want to.”

“Our tickets aren’t that long from now,” Little Neal says. “We’ll get home pretty soon.” 

“I think I’d rather deal with my mom than stay here and watch Sara kill Big Neal,” Theo says.

Little Neal shrugs. “At least it’s easier to sneak onto the trains between New York and DC than it is an international flight.” 

“And hey, in just a few years, I can move to New York if I want,” Theo says. 

“Or we could both move somewhere different.” 

“This is all very touching, but can we keep things rolling?” Sara asks. “I have to make some calls, and I’d prefer to not have to do that from a café. Neal, do you live nearby?”

“I, ah. Not far,” Big Neal says. 

“We’ll go there, get the painting off the street, and I’ll talk to the office and see what we can arrange for the painting and the children,” Sara says.

“Ooh, and you can look at the painting!” Katie says. “Not the one I smuggled. The one Neal did.”

“Maybe we really should split for the airport,” Little Neal whispers to Theo.

“Oh yes, let’s go look at that painting, Kate,” Sara says.

“Katie,” Katie says.

“Katie,” Sara says. “I apologize.”

“It’s cool. You’re really going to like it!”

“Maybe we’ll skip the painting,” Big Neal says.

“Here’s a hint,” Katie says, leaning in close to Sara. “I _really_ like your tattoo.”

“Okay, we need to go!” Little Neal says quickly. “Maybe the three of us should go ahead and leave for the airport, even.” 

“We’ll get that all sorted out back at my place,” Big Neal says. 

Little Neal sighs. “Okay.” They all walk back to Neal’s apartment, and then Sara starts calling people. It all feels anticlimactic, since Sara spends most of her time on the phone while Katie watches her. It gets closer and closer to time for them to fly back, and as exciting as it’s all been, Little Neal somehow thought there would be something _really_ exciting. He’s not sure what that would have been, though, since they found a stolen painting by accident already. 

Eventually, Sara seems to have talked to everyone, and a courier comes by to pick up the painting, and Little Neal can feel himself relax more. 

“Is that it, then?” he asks. 

“Sterling Bosch is sending someone to accompany you back to New York,” Sara says. “I’ve had my assistant contact your parents, and our agent will deliver you into their waiting hands.”

“Oh no,” Theo says.

“That doesn’t sound like a good plan at all,” Little Neal adds. 

“Well, too bad, junior,” Sara says. “That’s what’s happening. I’m not letting three minors fly back to New York unaccompanied after they’ve just turned over the most valuable stolen painting in the world. You get Lars and door-to-door service.”

“His name is Lars?” Katie asks. “Is he Swedish? Can he bench press me?”

“Yes, his name is Lars, no, he isn’t Swedish, and while I don’t know the details of his daily fitness routine, yes, I assume he could bench press you,” Sara says.

“Everything thing about this trip is amazing,” Katie says.

“Except the shady guy,” Theo says.

“Well, yeah, except him,” Katie says. “Obviously. He was creepy.”

“Are you _sure_ you wouldn’t like to take Lars’ place?” Little Neal asks Big Neal. Sara tilts her head slightly, leveling a fierce look at Big Neal.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Big Neal says. “It’s probably for the best that I not enter the country.”

“Not even to visit my parents?” Katie asks, giving Big Neal the sad animal eyes. 

“Maybe we can plan something for the future, instead of me just imposing on them,” Big Neal says. 

Little Neal frowns. “I bet they wouldn’t mind.” 

“I think we’ll stick with the original plan,” Sara says.

Little Neal turns towards her, still frowning. “ _Your_ original plan.” 

“Yes, and as the adult here, that’s the plan we’ll follow,” Sara says.

“Neal’s an adult,” Katie says.

“Barely,” Sara says. 

“He’s been alone,” Little Neal says, feeling oddly protective of Big Neal. “For a long time.” 

“By his own choice!” Sara says. “He’s the one who chose to let people believe he was dead!”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Little Neal says. 

“Spoken _just_ like Peter Burke,” Sara says. Little Neal shrugs. 

“If Neal and Sara get back together, she’d kind of be my step-mom!” Katie says.

“Your name isn’t Yente!” Little Neal says. 

“Nope. It’s Katie Burke, and Burkes don’t give up on people,” Katie says. “So I’m not giving up on Sara and Old Neal.”

“Big Neal. I don’t want people to start calling me ‘Young Neal’.” 

“Why not?” Katie asks. 

“Because that’s horrible to do to your brother,” Little Neal says. 

“Half-brother,” Katie mutters under her breath.

“Can I leave her here?” Little Neal asks Sara. “Since she doesn’t seem to care if she goes home.” 

“No,” Sara and Big Neal both say at the same time.

“Awww!” Katie says. “They talked at the same time!”

“You kids should eat something and maybe try to get a little more sleep,” Big Neal says. 

“I just want to sleep right now,” Little Neal admits, walking towards Big Neal’s bed. 

“Good idea,” Theo says. He follows Little Neal to the bed, and Little Neal waits for Theo to lie down before curling up in the same spot as before. He falls asleep quickly, and when he wakes up, he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize saying something to Big Neal. 

“Lars,” Little Neal mumbles, keeping his eyes closed. 

He can feel Theo moving next to him. “Wow. He’s big.”

“I guess it’s good if he’s bigger than Summers,” Little Neal says with a sigh, still not opening his eyes. 

“A _lot_ bigger.”

“So she sent a bodyguard?” 

“I guess so,” Theo says. “He could probably bench Katie, me, and you all at the same time.”

“Are we ready to go?” Little Neal asks. 

“Katie doesn’t look ready. She’s drinking coffee with Sara.”

“She wants to stay here. I guess we have to get up, though.” 

“Yeah, I guess we do,” Theo says. “Time to go home and face the music.”

Little Neal nods and opens his eyes. “You think he really will visit?” 

“I don’t know. I bet it’s weird for him.”

“It’s weird for us, too.” Little Neal sits up and looks around. Their luggage is now in the apartment, and Little Neal assumes that Sara sent Lars to get it from the hotel. “I guess we can come back in four years, either way.” 

“The only person who doesn’t seem to think it’s weird is Katie, which is weird in it’s own way, since, you know,” Theo says. 

“I think maybe that’s an age thing. No matter what Mom says about Katie’s maturity.” 

“Maybe so,” Theo agrees.

“Oh good, you boys are awake,” Sara’s voice cuts through their conversation. “I have good news about your painting.”

“Lady Marchand knows we don’t have it?” Little Neal guesses. 

“I was going to say that it checked out. It appears to be authentic,” Sara says. “Though in retrospect, I can see how your guess might have been better news.”

“Maybe your company can release a statement to the press,” Little Neal says he stands up. 

“We will, timed for when your plane takes off,” Sara says. 

“They can’t use our names, since we were here on fake passports,” Katie says. “We also don’t get the reward.”

“We weren’t actually expecting the reward,” Little Neal points out. 

“We _do_ get letters of recognition, though! Plus Lars brought us some Sterling Bosch T-shirts,” Katie says, holding up a shirt. “It’s nice, huh?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed they had T-shirts,” Little Neal says. 

“They’re embroidered, not printed,” Katie says. 

“And we’ve already spoken to the airline and confirmed your flight will be leaving on time,” Big Neal says. “Peter, El, and Diana will all be there to meet you.”

Little Neal sighs. “Next time we come to Paris, maybe you can avoid sending us back to get grounded?” 

“Maybe next time you can call ahead,” Big Neal says. 

Little Neal considers that, then nods. “Deal.” 

“Neal says I can pick out one of his paintings to take home!” Katie announces. 

“Are you going to put it in your suitcase?” Little Neal asks. 

“We know it’ll hold a painting,” Katie says.

Little Neal shakes his head and rolls his eyes a little, but doesn’t say anything else as they get their luggage ready to go. A cab arrives, and the three of them head out to it with Lars and Big Neal. Little Neal watches Paris pass by as they drive, thinking about how weird the trip has been. They never expected Big Neal was alive, much less actually in Paris, which is probably why everything else feels unimportant. 

“You’re sure you can’t come with us?” Little Neal asks when they arrive at the airport. 

“That’s a more complicated situation than I can prepare for in one surprise visit,” Big Neal says. “I promise I’ll keep in touch, though.”

“You’re really not going to admit straight up that you’re my dad?” Katie asks. 

Big Neal shakes his head. “Like I said, that’s a conversation to have with your parents, who are Peter and El Burke.”

Katie huffs. “You’re no fun, Old Neal. Sara’s probably too awesome for you, anyway.”

“On that, we definitely agree,” Big Neal says. 

“Thanks for not sending us back right away,” Little Neal says wryly. “It would be good to see more of the Louvre sometime, though.” 

“I’ll talk to Peter. Maybe we can make it a _planned_ trip this time.”

Little Neal smiles. “Would _you_ have made it a planned trip, if you were us?” 

Big Neal laughs as he gets out of the taxi, holding the door open for the three of them to exit, too. “Are you kidding?” Big Neal asks. “No way.”


End file.
